Two days later, I'm in the study, staring at a neatly written document whose script looks far too refined for the rough paper it's on. Something this eloquent should be scrawled across parchment soft enough to stroke the pampered cheeks of nobles, not this coarse stuff. I can almost feel the writer's chapped lips puckering against my ass with every dripping line of flattery. Yet between all the bows and groveling, the Confederation for Quest's demands read like a spit straight in my face.

With a sigh, I toss the document onto the desk and slump back in my chair, propping my boots on the polished wood. I don't need to summon my right-hand succubus with words. Geneva always seems coiled in my thoughts, a predator circling just out of sight. Thinking of her is enough. Right on cue, there's a brief knock before she enters.

"Good morning, my summoner."

"Morning. Grab a chair and something to eat. We're inviting mother-in-law."

Her head tilts, deliberately confused. "I thought you didn't care for her… diplomacy."

Diplomacy? Hah. More like excessive violence dressed up as wisdom. If every solution ends in blood, can you really call it diplomacy? "I don't want her opinions. I want her knowledge. She's the only other person I can think of who's watched rulers, uh, rule."

"Do you not trust my knowledge?"

I don't dignify that with an answer, just shoo her away. She returns with the chair, food, and the elf in tow. Morgene looks—as always—good. But today, something's off. The ferocity that usually lurks just under her skin is muted, her predatory grace stretched into something lazier. She slides into the chair with feline ease, eyes half-lidded and wearing a soft smile that is disarming. "How rare for you to summon me. Hopefully, it's something interesting."

Her husky voice sends a treacherous shiver down my spine. I shut my eyes quickly, as though cutting off the sight will spare me from the mess she stirs in my head. Really, Atainna blood is dangerous for too many reasons.

"No blood and mayhem, but I'd appreciate your time anyway."

"Shame."

"You're… in a good mood?" Or just tired.

She hums, long and pleased, a sound that edges into a moan. Against my better judgment, I peek, only to find her stretched out, arching her back in a way designed to ruin my composure. Saints save me. I snap my gaze away, grimacing at myself.

"This little vacation has had… unexpected benefits. I suppose I should thank you."

"Oh? What did I do?"

"My daughter's punishment created a rift between my dedia and me. He expected to return to war. Kierra's freedom robbed him of a reason to fight. Instead, he's taken to practicing his 'peaceful methods.' Silliness, mostly. But being pampered is not entirely unpleasant."

I chuckle. "You can't mean he never pampered you before."

"That is exactly what I mean."

I blink at her, searching for any trace of teasing, but her expression is too steady. "He's never even tried to romance you?"

Her chuckle is low, amused. "Our union began with me beating him near death before claiming him. No, there was little romance involved."

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"But every… er, night couldn't have started with a fight. Or ended with one."

"He was sweet enough unconscious. Like a hound."

"…he has the physical affinity." How in the hells does she outlast him?

"Matriarchs are special creatures. You'll learn soon enough." Then, with a wave of her hand: "But shall we discuss why I'm here? Unless you'd rather hear more about our sex life. Some instruction, perhaps?"

"Saints, no. I do just fine there, thank you."

"So I've heard," she purrs, and I want to vanish.

I practically throw the document at her. She plucks it from the air with effortless grace, scanning quickly.

She hums. "And?"

"I wanted your perspective as a leader."

"Leading soldiers is very different from leading a city."

"But you were trained for that world. Even if you turned it down." Forcefully. First time I've ever heard of someone fighting to avoid being crowned.

She chuckles. "Fair. What do you think of their demands?"

I scowl. "Most of it is absurd."

The Confederation's so-called requests fall neatly into three categories: voice, compensation, and self-determination.

A voice means the right to have a say in their future. Just as the king has advisors to manage the kingdom, they propose a council of residents to administer the city, under my governance. They want the power to plan the rebuilding of the city. They want the ability to propose laws and demand to be made aware of any laws before they are passed so they may state their opinions. Finally, and most egregiously, they want the power to preside over criminal trials and pass judgment, a right that has lied strictly with nobles since the founding of the kingdom. They took the time to remind me that it is the policy of the kingdom that criminals are to be apprehended alive whenever possible so that their crimes may be judged fairly.

For compensation, they want their livelihoods restored. I don't necessarily disagree with that but the amount their asking for is crazy. They're demanding five gold crowns affected by the battle. Five! Have they lost their minds? That may be the yearly profits of the specialized craftsmen and particularly skilled hunters, but there's no way that's the average earnings for the residents of the city. Most commoners would be lucky to see a single gold crown in their entire lives, let alone several. They don't need that to live They don't need a tenth of that to get their lives back on track.

I'd call them madmen if that was the end of it, but their demands get even more egregious. They want widowed mothers to receive a monthly allowance of ten silvers per child, until said child is old enough for an apprenticeship. On top of that, they want the city to be exempt from taxes for three years. And on top of that, they want the city to buy goods from them at standard market prices.

Do they think I'm made of gold? I'm supposed to shower them riches without a way to make any of it back? I can see what these bastards are planning. If there are no taxes, I must sell things to make money to fund all this goodwill. And what is the only thing I have to sell? Why, the city itself. And who wants to be in control of rebuilding the city, including pricing the land and straightening out deeds? The bastards trying to swindle me!

Saints give me patience, even that wasn't enough to satisfy them. They have the audacity to ask for more. Their third point is power. Namely, a guarantee of personal power. It is both the simplest and most annoying of their requests. They want an assurance that I will not attempt to restrict hunters from growing and teaching. Additionally, they want any techniques, spells, artifacts, and other material wealth of found in the rubble returned to their nearest kin.

What does that include? At the very least, the Authority and saints know I'm not giving them that. While I don't imagine the guilds have anything decent in their shattered guild halls, if I did find something worth the minimal effort of shifting the debris off it, I definitely wouldn't give it to them.

"What about me screams 'idiot' to them?" I snap.

Morgene smirks. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

I glare, heat prickling at my skin. "I'm trying to work with them, and they slap me with this? Do they even want this to work?"

"Were they supposed to beg to be treated like ants?"

"Aiming high is one thing," I shoot back. "But aiming so high I have no choice but denying them just breeds more resentment!"

This was supposed to be a chance to mend fences. Instead, it's more fuel for the fire.

I exhale, sinking back into my chair. "Fine. You're here to help me turn this garbage into something useful. At least it tells me what they're scared of—safety, shelter, food, livelihoods, and protection from another catastrophe." From me.

They want promises I can't make. But I can give them hope. That should be enough.

"Let's start at the beginning," I say with a deep sigh as I relax in my chair. "How do I build a council that serves me—without creating a knife at my back?"

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